Regrets
by CrapPishh
Summary: She'd never got a chance to apologise for everything wrong she had done, nor thank him for everything he had done for her. But now, it was too late to do anything; he'd already left. Oneshot. 100 hits! :D


No spoilers to 'Memories of the Forgotten', so don't get your hopes up.

But do review if you have the time. It'll be much appreciated.

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ZOMG ABSOLMASTER YOUR SONGS RAWKKK! x3333 URE SUCH A PRO! ZOMGZOMGZOMG.

-cough cough-

Pretend you never saw that.

Enjoy :D

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_-10 years ago-_

"_Daddy, Daddy! Look what I made!" a little girl with black, pigtailed hair exclaimed eagerly, dashing past the front gates of the kindergarten, knocking over anyone and everyone in her way, and into the outstretched, waiting arms of a man; a Doombringer tied to his back as he smiled and embraced her._

"_Look Daddy! I drew you!"she announced with a big grin, holding up her creation proudly. _

_In her hands was a simple photo frame made from painted ice cream sticks and heaps of glitter, stuck together to form a rather misshapen rectangle. A piece of coloured paper was pasted on the back of the frame, and a picture was drawn on it, making use of the wide array of colours available inside a crayon box; a picture of a stick figure holding what appeared to be a four-year- old's perception of a Doombringer._

"_To the best crusader Daddy in the world."_

_The father smiled warmly and lifted his daughter up, placing her gently on his shoulders before walking off; weapon swaying from side to side as the two of them headed home, excess glitter raining down like snow._

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-Present-

The photo frame still retained its odd shape, although the colors had long since faded and the glitter had unstuck itself and disappeared mysteriously, the years taking their toll on the glue's adhesiveness. Dust had gathered on the photo frame, testament to the prolonged absence of its owner.

It was disturbed, suddenly, by a trembling hand, reaching forward and picking it up, running fingers along the crayon marks on the picture. Memories flooded back.

A solitary tear dripped down onto the floor.

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_-3 years ago-_

"_Hey, sweetie. How was your day?"_

"_Dad, I'm not a little kid anymore, stop treating me like one. And didn't I tell you to stop coming to fetch me home from school? It's embarrassing," complained a preteen girl struggling to free herself from her father's grip, aware of her schoolmates' presence behind her._

"_But we live so far away from your school you know. Besides, it's Fathers' Day. Let your old man do what he wants."_

"_I can take a taxi home myself. I'm old enough. Stop being so overprotective. I'm getting too old to celebrate Fathers' Day like this."_

"_But you used to love it. And I just want to make sure you're safe. That's all."_

"_I'm perfectly safe on my own," she retorted, looking up at her father with her brown, almond-shaped eyes._

"_You look just like your mother," the father chuckled, ruffling her hair._

"_Maybe that's why she left! Because you don't understand! All you do is embarrass me!" the daughter concluded the argument by pushing his hand away and hailing a cab, unaware of the pained expression on the aged crusader's face as he tried to stop her. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out._

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-Present-

Fathers' Day. Everywhere she went, she could see children with their fathers; laughing, smiling, having the time of their lives.

Her heart was heavy; guilt consumed her.

When was the last time she had celebrated Fathers' Day with her own dad? She couldn't remember.

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-_1 year ago-_

"_You paged for me, Grendel?" an adolescent girl opened the door to Grendel's office, a puzzled expression plastered on her face._

"_Yes child. The hospital just called. You might want to sit down first."_

_--_

_She sat in the taxi, headed for the hospital, still reeling from the shock, induced by the earlier conversation._

_--_

"_Your father passed away peacefully of heart failure while teaching a class at the Perion Academy. We tried our best, but I'm sorry, he's gone."_

_Heart failure. Impossible. He was physically fit; there was no way that could be possible._

"_He was indeed fit, but his heart wasn't up to the task. It was only functioning at 40 percent of the normal rate; only a matter of time before giving in to the strain of his lifestyle. He didn't tell you?"_

_He didn't tell me anything. He never did share his problems; only listened to mine patiently. As I ranted on and on about school work, I never once thought about his health, whether he was eating right, whether we had any monetary issues. He worked practically the whole day; left home before I even woke up in the mornings, and got back way past my bedtime every night._

"_He was told to undergo an operation, but decided against it because it was costly. A bad decision; it would have saved his life."_

_I needed a new wardrobe and I used his card. I never thought about how much I was spending. I never thought he'd need any of the money. I never once thought about him; my only concern was myself._

_--_

_At the hospital, after taking a final look at her father's body, she walked down the hospital hallway, towards the exit. _

_As she passed the receptionist counter, she caught a glance of the calendar. _

_It was Fathers' Day._

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-Present-

Regrets. Countless regrets. There were still so many things she hadn't done; so many things she hadn't said. Now, she would never have the chance to.

Life's lessons were always learnt the hard way; through actual experiences.

"_You only treasure someone when he's gone," _Grendel had said to her at her father's wake. She had brushed it off as a casual remark, but now it made sense; more than ever.

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_-Yesterday-_

_"Class, your assignment for today is to write a letter to your father for Fathers' Day, to thank him for everything he has done for you."_

_Groans echoed around the classroom, with students debating about importance of this particular assignment. _

_One particular one voiced out his thoughts._

_"We see our fathers everyday, so why is there even a need to write to them?"_

_"Shhh," his friend hissed, gesturing at the girl two seats in front of him._

_As that black-haired girl pretended not to hear her classmate's insensitive remark, she faced the piece of coloured paper resting on her table, blinked back tears and began to write, despite knowing that her father would never get to read her letter._

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It had never occured to her that he wouldn't be around forever; he was simply taken for granted.

She never got a chance to say a final good bye to him, give him a hug or say she loved him.

She never got a chance to apologise for everything that she had done or said that hurt him emotionally, even though he never showed any traces of it.

She blocked out everything that had happened; she was in denial.

She never once cried at the hospital upon seeing his cold, lifeless body; nor at his funeral, where countless other individuals sobbed their hearts out, telling her that her father was a good man and that he didn't deserve to die so early, offering clichés that never got through to her.

Not once.

But for the first time, she broke down.

Exactly a year after his death.

Fathers' Day.

Strangely, it felt good, like a weight was being lifted off her shoulders.

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**Author's Note: How true this is, you only treasure someone when he's gone.**

**I originally planned to upload this on Fathers' Day, but uploading it today is significantly more meaningful to me (and it's also partly because I found out that I'm not going to be in Singapore on Fathers' Day, so yeah).**

**This is my own Fathers' Day tribute to my dad, even though I know he will never get to read it himself.**


End file.
